Dementia: 24 Tributes, 24 Authors
by Morturtle
Summary: 24 tributes, 3 Gamemakers, 27 authors. One incredible collaboration. Application process begins now, so hang on, kids. You're in for the ride of your lives.


**Saang Berger  
Capitol**

The buzzing in my ears is faint, like the far-away whispers of a radio trapped between channels. My eyelids are too heavy to move. It feels as though I am trapped in my body, weighed down by a package of skin and bone.

There is a cool sensation against my wrists and ankles. I move one wrist experimentally and it chafes against what I believe is metal. _I'm clamped down, _I realize idly. _How odd._

After a moment, it hits me that I should probably be more upset about this than I am. There is a rising feeling of panic in my chest, but I don't remember what it is I have to panic about. The idea that something is terribly wrong makes my heart pound against my ribs. _Thump-thump, thump-thump._

It is with herculean effort that I open my eyes. White, everything around me is white. My body, I realize dully, has been arranged on a metal table, clamped at the wrists and ankles. I work my jaw and feel that clamps around it that force it almost to my chest. A line of drool travels slowly from the corner of my lip to my paper-clad shoulder. I would lick it away, but there is metal coolness around my tongue and it won't move.

I can hear a door opening, and a man in white steps into the room. Behind him there is a metal gurney, covered in instruments. None of them seem friendly. The panicky feeling has returned full force and I try to catch the man with my eyes. When he notices my desperate efforts, he gives me a cheerful smile. "Awake, I see!" he exclaims, moving towards me. "Did you sleep well?"

I can't respond and he knows it. He seems to take some sort of pleasure in watching me wiggle my tongue back and forth. Grinning, he reaches out and snatches it between his thumb and forefinger. He pinches it hard enough to bring tears to my eyes before letting go with a little smile.

My tongue flops against my teeth. It has a little pulse all to its own. _Thump-thump, thump-thump. _I'm beginning to remember. What did I do? Something stupid, I must have done something stupid…

_Thump-thump. _An image flashes into my mind, fragmented and blurred. A shard of sharp plastic gripped in a white palm, with blood running down the wrist. _Thump-thump. _The scream of a dying boy, as the explosion tears through the arena and buries him under tons of rubble. _Thump-thump, thump-thump._

"You've been a very naughty girl, haven't you?" the man in white admonishes, wagging his finger playfully. "Do you remember what you did?"

_I don't know._

"You were watching the Hunger Games, weren't you?" he asks. "And what happened? Your favorite tribute, he died. So what did you do?"

_Thump-thump._

"Broke the television with your fist, right? And your brother told you to stop…"

_Thump-thump…_

"Did you _really _slash his throat with the plastic? That was awfully cruel of you." He reaches behind him, plucking up a slim instrument easily. "We shouldn't let the deviants like you watch the Games," he says thoughtfully. "They're much too violent for those of us with _delicate _minds." He comes closer, grabbing my tongue and yanking it out of the safety of my mouth. "I heard that you protested the Games. Did you think they were twisted? I think you'd be the expert on that." He presses his sharp blade against the muscle of my tongue. There is a searing sharpness and I pull against the restraints, suddenly desperate.

_Thump-thump. I killed him. Thump-thump._

"I hope you're prepared," the man says, pulling the scalpel away so I can see the tiny stream of blood on the blade. "Because the next few minutes are going to be extremely difficult for you."

He puts the blade back in my mouth and begins to saw.

It turns out that the man in white was correct. The next few minutes are _extremely _difficult for me. So difficult, in fact, that I pass out halfway through, falling into the pleasing blackness.

It is only when my mouth feels light and airy that I swim back into consciousness. The pain in my mouth is like a cacophony, and I can feel the emptiness in the way I swallow. Blood is smeared from my lips to my chin, and I feel light-headed.

"Look," says the man in white. Clutched in his palm is a red mass, long and ropy and thick and covered in blood. "_This _is what your Capitol thinks of you, darling," he says, holding my severed tongue just in front of my nose.

My head drops to my chin and the blood gushes like water.

Unconsciousness grips me a second time, and this time I don't come back.

* * *

**Hello all, and welcome to Dementia: a 24 Author Collaboration. For those of you who don't know, a 24 author collaboration entails 24 authors coming together, each one writing a single tribute, to create a collaboration of massive proportions. In _Dementia, 24 _authors will compete to become the Victor. Adding in 3 Gamemaker characters for behind the scenes footage only adds to the fun. We're looking for authors willing to dedicate some time to a process that will end up being truly rewarding and fun. If you think you're up to it, check out the _Dementia _forum to apply, link is as follows (remove the spaces and add "http" to the front):**

** : / / www . fanfiction forum / Dementia - 24 - Tributes - 24 - Authors / 121178 /**

**Please note that the actual story will be found on a separate account built for the collaboration.**

**Happy writings to all, and let's hope the odds are in our authors' favors!**


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